


Balconies of Barcelona

by starespressos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2020, COVID-19, Except when they are very gay, M/M, Minor Anna Milton, Minor Sam Winchester, Pandemic - Freeform, Quarantine, Two Guys Chilling on Balconies Six Feet Apart Cause They're Not Gay, minor Gabriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starespressos/pseuds/starespressos
Summary: Between work and sleep, Castiel spends his time looking at Barcelona from his balcony.Until, of course, his new neighbor moves in.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72





	Balconies of Barcelona

**Author's Note:**

> I'm no medical professional. Don't take my word for if it's safe to meet.
> 
> This is another quarantine fic. When I was asked like two months ago whether I'm going to write one, I said something along the lines of _no way in hell, I want to distract myself and others with fic instead of indulging in the pandemic_. And now look how the tables have tabled.
> 
> Beta'd by some quality tacos; [Gray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deaniewithalittleweanie/pseuds/deaniewithalittleweanie) and [Alice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicethrutheburrows). Thank you!
> 
> No songs for this one. Put on some eurodance.

Castiel opens the double doors to the balcony and takes in a deep breath. At eight am, the sun is yet to reach any heat behind its golden rays. In a couple of hours, it’s going to get too hot for him to hang out here, so he soaks in all he can from the early hours.

It smells like freshly brewed coffee outside. He’s not the only one that’s chosen a balcony for morning activities; someone’s ironing a shirt below him, someone’s reading the morning paper, and from somewhere to his right, a loud FaceTime conversation can be heard. As he leans against the railing, a faint saxophone song rises from the street.

He loves Barcelona.

With a gentle sigh, he decides to press some orange juice. He steps inside to do just that and hears the insistent tone of his phone ringing in the bedroom. He groans and detours to fetch it.

“Hey, Anna,” he says and clears his throat that’s still hoarse from sleeping, “this is a nice change of pace.”

His sister laughs on the line. “That bored with Gabriel’s morning calls?”

“And Michael’s. It’s either all jokes or all facts from those two, so any change is welcome.”

“Has Gabe at least moved on from fart jokes?”

Castiel scuffles back to the kitchen and wonders if it would be rude to turn on the juice maker while talking.

“Nope, but I’ve got to give it to him that at least one in ten are still funny.”

“I bet he’ll fill me in quickly enough. Okay, farts aside, how’s Barcelona?”

Castiel decides to put Anna on speaker and hand-press his oranges. Before starting to cut them, he opens the window to the courtyard.

“It’s beautiful. It’s quiet, sunny-” Castiel sighs softly, taking in the serenity outside his window, “-and beautiful.”

Anna sighs almost wistfully. “I never would have thought quiet would become the new normal.”

“Yet here we are. In need of making our own noise. So, what have you been up to?”

“Started crocheting again. Nothing quite like crocheting while you listen to a computer read essays.”

“Is attendance still alright in your classes?”

“Somewhat. Sometimes people stop showing up and I worry. Not… Not everyone returns.”

“It could be anything,” Castiel tries to soothe her worry. “Circumstances change rapidly. Maybe their priorities just no longer lie in education.”

“You’re absolutely right, but if it’s okay, I don’t want to talk about that now. Are you going to join this month’s family dinner?”

Castiel huffs, but it’s quickly replaced by a sharp hiss of pain.

“What’s happening? You okay?” Anna’s voice is instantly filled with motherly worry.

“Yes, shit,” he mutters and shakes his hands, “orange juice all over my hands.”

Anna groans in sympathy. “Wash them. And for god’s sake, Castiel, don’t you use lotion?”

“Not nearly enough, apparently. My skin is so dry the cracks bleed.”

“Not nearly enough is right, then,” Anna pauses, probably because she hears the tap turn on now, “use something extra creamy, if possible.”

“I do have some O’Keeffes here.”

“Why don’t you use it then, dumbass?”

“Whoa,” Castiel laughs, “that’s a bit harsh. I use it at night.”

“Eh, good enough. Your orange juice about done?”

Castiel frowns and glances at the phone. “How’d you know?”

“You’ve made your juice since you were a teen and didn’t want influenza. Something about kickstarting your immune system in the morning.”

“Ah, that’s right. I didn’t even remember my reasons and here I’ve been burning through kilograms of oranges during the last week.”

“A week since you last were out?”

“There’s a small shop right downstairs. I visited it last Saturday.”

Castiel’s cup is full, so he takes it and the phone and heads back to the balcony. The mess he leaves behind can be taken care of later.

“I visited the store yesterday,” Anna sighs. “I hope to have enough to last me at least four days.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Castiel says and as he takes a sip of his juice, he notices he’s being observed.

The balcony next to him was previously empty, but now there’s a guy around his age. When Castiel looks at him, he smiles and ducks his head before turning away, and for some reason, Castiel’s gut reaction is disappointment.

“Is the weather at least nice?” Anna asks and Castiel blinks. That’s right, they’re still talking.

“It’s been sunny. I mean, I could use some rain since despite the lack of traffic, dust still rises up here. How’s Seattle?”

“Sunny as well. Of course, it means people go out.”

“Obviously. It’s not like this affects them,” Castiel says bitterly. He rubs his eyes with his fingers and stops – when did he last wash his hands properly? “I don’t even want to know what Platja de la Barceloneta looks like these days. I bet people are sunbathing and swimming.”

“I bet. Hey, shoot, look at the time. I need to continue grading if I want people to get their exams back today. Are you going to be alright?”

“Definitely. I’ll drink my juice and get to work myself.”

“Alright. Nice hearing from you, and hopefully we’ll meet at family dinner.”

“Sure. Goodbye, Anna.”

She hangs up and Castiel wonders if he accidentally promised to join the dinner just now. Maybe he should – it’s not like they’ve given him anything new to be angry about. Maybe the time they need to spend apart could be a way towards forgiveness.

He sighs.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

Frowning, Castiel turns back towards the balcony to his left. The man is leaning against the railing, smiling brightly as if there’s no worries in the world. Instead of being his usual grumpy self and telling the guy to shove his curiosity, Castiel leans forward to mirror the man’s posture. He estimates at least ten feet between them.

“Should I forgive my parents for being homophobes?”

The man’s eyebrows shoot up. “Hell no.”

“Even during times like these? They’re not actively being bigoted religious assholes, but I know it’s boiling under the surface.”

“Especially in times like these,” the man says and looks down for a moment. Castiel wonders what caught his eye in there. “If I was a parent, I’d immediately call my kid and tell them that now that things are actually really shitty, I realize what’s important in life and that I’d be welcoming them with open arms when we can meet again. Then again, I’m not religious… or straight.”

Castiel leans his hand against his chin. “Interesting. I think you’re onto something.”

“I know I am,” he says with a shameless click of his tongue and a wink. Castiel tilts his head and welcomes the flirtation. “Anyway, sorry for forcing you to talk to me. You can go about your day now, I won’t hold it against you.”

“Do I look like I’ve got errands to run?”

The man looks him up and down. “Nope.”

“You’re wrong. I do actually have work.”

“Oh? What is it that you do?”

“Translating. Any adult fiction, mostly sci-fi and fantasy books into English.”

“From which language?”

The man seems absolutely intrigued; eyes sparkling with interest and a widening smile. Castiel wonders if he’s bored enough to want to talk to him that much or if he actually finds him interesting.

“French and Spanish.”

“Wow,” he says, completely in awe, “and I can’t even write English properly.”

“I bet you’re good in something else, then,” Castiel hums, “maybe even something I suck at, like information technology.”

“Well, I am a computer technician,” the man says, shrugging.

“Right,” Castiel laughs, “sure you are.”

“No, for real. I’ve worked for Microsoft for years but started my own business a year ago.”

“And here I was just throwing that around.”

The man squints. “What’s your name?”

“Castiel.”

“Okay, Castiel, my name’s Dean. I need to get a shower now because I literally just walked into this apartment and I don’t want to be touching things before I disinfect myself. Hope I’ll see you around, it might get lonely.”

With another wink, Dean turns around and heads back inside. Castiel huffs out a laugh before backing away from the balcony, not quite able to believe what just happened.

*

Castiel manages to work until about noon. By then, it’s too hot to go outside to check if his new friend is there, but it doesn’t keep him from thinking about the possibility anyway. It’s uncommon for Castiel to find a person that’s so easy to talk to; not that they actually talked about anything, but he could easily count on one hand the times it's been easy for him to make small talk with a stranger. He’s noticed that people have become more open and kind during the pandemic, but this? This somehow feels like another level.

To be honest, he’s not sure if he’s more surprised by himself or by Dean.

What he can’t deny, though, is that Dean is absolutely gorgeous. His sun-kissed skin and dark blonde hair, worn clothes and lean muscles, and his smile – that smile in particular makes Castiel a little weak in the knees. The easy-going nature is welcome right now, since all Castiel hears is serious talk and worst case scenarios.

Dean already feels like an escape.

*

“So,” Dean starts. Castiel flinches – he was so deep into the book he was reading he didn’t hear him come out. He gets on his feet and places his hand dramatically on his chest.

“You scared me.”

Dean grimaces. “Sorry. What are you reading?”

“Uh,” Castiel raises his book, “ _ El amor en los tiempos del cólera _ , Love in the Time of Cholera. It came with the apartment.”

“There’s a joke to be made here,” Dean muses.

“Unfortunately, I thought of the same thing too,” Castiel sighs, frowning down at the blue cover of the book. “It’s not the best joke.”

“Obviously not. I take it you’re not one to appreciate the memes.”

“The what?”

Castiel raises his gaze back to Dean, who’s scrutinizing him.

“The… memes,” he says, slower this time. “I can’t believe you immediately don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“My social media circles are super small,” Castiel says, suddenly ashamed, “like you might’ve caught, I’m helpless with modern technology. I can work Word well enough to translate, but if it doesn’t function… I don’t know what to do. I have an Instagram account I know how to update but that, and following a couple of closest friends, is all I do.”

“Might be for the best right now. People are making jokes about the situation. I mean I can stand behind making fun of people who don’t take it seriously – those people need to be made fun of so they realize how shitty they’re doing, but other than that… Insensitive and weird.”

Castiel nods, for the first time a little unsure what to say.

“If you have your phone with you, though,” Dean continues. Castiel nods and digs up his phone. “You could check me on your Instagram. You’ll see what I’ve been doing for the past couple of weeks. The handle is  _ travelingwiththewinchesters.” _

Castiel types that in once he’s downloaded his Instagram from the cloud. A good sign of how much he’s been using it recently.

“Who’s the other Winchester?”

“That’s Sammy, my brother. We usually travel together, but it was only me on this particular trip. I’m both happy and sad that’s the case since while I know Sam’s safe in the US, we’re now separated for god knows how long.”

“I know how it feels,” Castiel says a bit absent-mindedly – the most recent images are of Dean mountaineering and it’s all sorts of fascinating and attractive. “My whole family’s scattered. We have dinners through Hangouts but it’s obviously not the same. Oh, you were climbing Aneto?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean says as if it’s no big deal to climb the highest mountain of the Pyrenees, “I wasn’t alone, but yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing.”

“How long were you out there?”

“Aneto was climbed in two days because the weather was shitty, but I spent three and a half weeks in the Pyrenees.”

“Wow,” Castiel sighs, “you came back to full lockdown, then.”

“I did. It only dawned on me when I noticed everything’s closed. Also, the reception desk has a plexiglass now.”

“Oh, they got that up? Nice. The last time I went out, they were feverishly trying to find one since everything’s sold out.”

Castiel’s still scrolling down Dean’s Instagram feed, idly wondering if he should start visiting the platform more again because of him. It could be interesting to see where he heads from here.

“It’s really odd,” Dean sighs and Castiel puts his phone away to concentrate better. He leans against the railing again, letting his cheek scrunch under his knuckles. Dean mirrors the posture almost to a T. “Suddenly, everything’s closed, and I… I’m not sure I’ve got enough food to last me more than two days. I didn’t go grocery shopping.”

“If you don’t have symptoms, you could go today,” Castiel muses. “I think the risk to get the virus from the downstairs store is fairly low. You should have complementary gloves to take along, too.”

“Good idea.”

They fall into a silence, this one a lot calmer than the previous one, before Dean sighs.

“It’s just… I’ve never been good at shopping for days or weeks. I’ve traveled since I graduated high school and I never stay long enough to buy groceries for a long period of time.”

Castiel chuckles. “Shopping like this is second nature to me. I made dinner for my four siblings most of my childhood.”

“So they’re not only homophobes, they didn’t take care of their kids either?”

There’s something in the way that Dean says this that resonates experience. It’s too early in their acquaintance to ask about it, even though Castiel gets the feeling that Dean would gladly share.

“I want to believe they were just busy. They were entrepreneurs in their own company back when we were younger. I wasn’t the oldest child, but I was the one with the most kitchen savoir faire.”

“Well, my dad was just a drunk. When he wasn’t drinking at the bar across the street, he was passing out somewhere around the house. I could only make mac and cheese for Sammy, but he was always grateful. So maybe I need to rephrase what I said earlier: I totally can shop for weeks but it’s just gonna be like a hundred pounds of mac and cheese.”

Castiel straightens and clicks his tongue. “You know what. I know your Instagram now, so I’ll send you a shopping list as a direct message.”

Dean blinks. “You’d do that?”

“Again, does it look like I have errands to run?”

“Speaking of which, how’s your job going?”

They talk until the sun starts to set. After a dip into some deeper topics, they keep it light; Dean shares stories of his travels to Nepal and Cape Town, and Castiel talks about translating projects he has going on. When it gets pretty close to eight, Dean decides to venture to the store. Castiel’s a little sorry they don’t exchange phone numbers, but is too awkward to ask.

*

The next day, Castiel’s work is interrupted by a sound on his phone. It’s an Instagram notification from  _ travelingwiththewinchesters _ , and Castiel can’t even bother pretending he doesn’t instantly go check it out.

It’s a follow request and a direct message.

Dean : _ Hey, guess what I had for breakfast? _

Castiel rolls his eyes.  _ I don’t know. What did you have? _

Dean : _ Mac and cheese. _

Castiel : _ We didn’t even have mac and cheese on your grocery list. _

Dean : _ Doesn’t mean I didn’t buy it _

Dean : _ now it’s afternoon already and I’m hungry as hell, _

Dean : _ wanna give me a recipe to work with? you already know what I have in here _

Castiel sighs and leans away from his laptop. He’s only been working for an hour after a long call with Gabriel and a shower he definitely spent too much time in. Still, an opportunity to not only brag a little about his vegetarian cooking skills but also spend more time chatting with Dean? Sounds like a good pastime – a lot better than translating what sounds like a pyramid scheme tutorial book.

Castiel : _ You know what, I’m in. Rinse your red lentils, let’s make the same food. _

It’s a simple enough dish, but it takes them over an hour to finish. Castiel doesn’t need to ask Dean to come out to the balcony to eat; they both find their way there instinctively. They discuss pyramid schemes while eating and then decide to head back inside – even though it’s spring, the sun is shining too brightly and Castiel still needs to meet today’s quota. Dean suggests they meet at seven for a cup of coffee.

It becomes a routine. When they’re not out, they’re talking on Instagram and when they don’t have leftovers, they make a new dish at the same time. Castiel realizes he’s not thinking about much else besides Dean; he’s scrolled through the whole Winchester feed and found every picture of the older brother. He’s aware of his green eyes and the freckles that pattern his cheeks. On a whim, he also puts a selfie in the golden light of the evening sun and Dean is the first person to like it.

He’s not sure if Dean’s the only one who reads their conversation, or if Sam is also there lurking in the background. It keeps Castiel from venturing into other topics than what Dean brings up first – which might be alright. It’s been too long since he last had made a friend and he’s not quite aware of the tact required for such a task.

*

A week after Castiel first talked with Dean, he’s awakened by a clinking noise. It’s barely three am and everything is quiet and dark, and at first he just thinks someone’s been drinking too much and pretending that drumming is the best new quarantine hobby – but it sounds off enough for him to decide to go investigate nonetheless.

Castiel heads outside through the open balcony door and finds Dean sitting on the floor; he’s letting his legs hang from between the bars and his eyes are pressed shut. He’s using a ring to make sound into the surreal silence of the universe, and for a while, Castiel just thinks he’s having a good time. The more he looks, though, the more he notices the telltale signs of an anxiety attack.

“Hello, Dean,” he says quietly, “I’ll get my book and I’m going to take a seat right here and we can talk if you want to. If not, I’ll just keep you company.”

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean talks immediately. “I think I have it.”

Castiel sits down, mirroring the pose Dean’s still at. He wonders if they could touch with their toes if they reached out now.

“How are you feeling?”

“Uh,” Dean clears his throat, “achy. Itchy. My head aches so bad I feel it’s going to explode. I woke up to myself coughing and I… I get these shivers.”

Castiel nods and hums. “Do you have a thermometer over there?”

“No, I don’t think so. I … Shit, Cas,” Dean touches his throat, “I feel bad.”

“I know,” Castiel replies, keeping his voice level and focusing on his new friend instead of thinking about the fact that if Dean coughed now, the virus would absolutely fly right on his face. “Are your muscles hurting? How are your lymph nodes?”

It takes a while for Dean to comprehend what is being asked of him, and Castiel watches him make a quick mental scan of his body.

“Muscles are fine, although a little stiff from being so still all week. Lymph nodes are…” He presses parts of his neck gently. “Normal.”

“Of course it depends on people how their bodies react to fever, and apparently this virus is something else completely. Still, I’d say those are good signs. Have you been drinking?”

“No, why?”

“Trying to find a reason for your headache. Where is the pain?”

“It’s sort of like a throbbing pressure around my forehead and all the way back to –” Dean pauses and sighs. “Yeah, that could be a tension headache, too. I haven’t been sedentary in such a long time and now my muscles are having their revenge.”

“Would it help you to think back on your contacts?”

Dean considers this for a beat before answering. “I don’t think I have more than two contacts, the person that told me to lock down when I descended from the mountains and, well, the clerk from the store downstairs. I know it’s unlikely, but… I’m trying not to be neurotic about the surfaces I’ve touched.”

Castiel leans his forehead against the bars, perfectly aware that his cheeks get mushed between a little. Dean looks at him and a faint half-smile crosses his features. Castiel likes it.

“The truth is, nobody knows for sure. I don’t know for sure; I could’ve been very unlucky and caught a stray droplet of virus-infested saliva in the wind right here on the balcony. The best we can do is minimize the risk that will probably never drop to zero.”

Dean nods and sighs. “I travel alone a lot, but the solitude is by choice then. Now…” He gestures to the room behind him. “It’s so empty, so quiet.”

The words come out of Castiel’s mouth before he thinks them through. “You know, in a week, we’ve both been two weeks in complete quarantine and could move into the same space.”

Dean opens his mouth to answer, but snaps it shut when Castiel’s words sink in. “What, really?”

“I don’t know if it’s the protocol, and we might be risking each other a little, but since the incubation period for the virus is fourteen days… If we’re healthy after another week, I can’t see why not.”

Soon enough, Dean’s eyelids start drooping. His anxiety attack is still too fresh in his mind for him to reflect back on it yet, obviously, so Castiel lets him sleep it off first. If he spends the remaining night looking at Dean’s traveling pictures, nobody needs to know.

*

Instead of being awkward, everything remains the same. Okay, maybe not exactly the same – there’s an undercurrent of flirtations between them now. It’s really subtle, much to Castiel’s enjoyment; he loves to try and figure out hidden meanings and between-the-lines hints of Dean’s interest. If it was blatant and out-there, Castiel would feel nervous of their upcoming meeting.

Gabriel’s the one who pries information out of him when they prep for the family dinner. Apparently, Castiel’s brother is way too intuitive when it comes to matters of the heart – when Castiel casually mentions talking to the man on the next balcony, the next thing he finds himself doing is giving away the Winchester Instagram handle. He carefully keeps to himself any plans of teaming up in the same room with Dean soon, though. It’s enough to convince himself to do this kind of a reckless thing despite feeling guilty; convincing his brother is too much right now.

The evening cheers emanating from the street disrupt his thoughts and he turns towards the window, wondering if Dean is out already. Gabriel hears them too; he excuses himself and probably goes to cheer on his own balcony across the Atlantic. Castiel sighs and puts a shirt on; it’s been an exhaustingly hot day today, but he doesn’t want to seem like a douchebag by assuming everyone wants to see his naked torso.

Dean’s out, and he’s wearing a white sleeveless shirt – one he’s tied into a knot on his hip. Castiel realizes his eyes zoom right in on the skin so effortlessly visible, and while Dean notices, he just shoots him a wide smile and keeps on clapping. Not only is Dean as a whole physically attractive as fuck, there’s something in his carefree attitude that Castiel feels inexplicably drawn to. First things first, though; he joins the clapping and whistling until fifteen minutes is up, and the whole city goes dead again.

If he’d been told in January this would be normal in April, he would’ve been freaked out. He tells Dean as much.

“I think the mind is wild in many ways,” Dean says, placing his hands on his hips to frame his bare stomach. Castiel’s proud of himself for only glancing down. “It’s got to do with our coping mechanism or something. I’m in the middle of a fucking pandemic that causes the world to stop, and what is my mind going through? I’m bored. Were all the catastrophes in history boring?”

“It’s because we’re used to comfort, I think,” Castiel muses. “When everything changes this drastically, it’s our coping mechanism to downplay it.”

“Is this a fancy way to say you’re bored, too?” Dean asks. There’s a smile playing on the corners of his mouth, as if it depends on Castiel’s answer whether he’s going to start all-out flirting.

“I wouldn’t say bored,” he replies carefully, “but it’s been a while since I’ve last felt anything but anticipation of this being over.”

“Speaking of over,” Dean starts and shakes his head, apparently because it’s a poorly constructed bridge between topics, “were you serious about coming over in a couple of days?”

Castiel leans his elbow against the railing, trying to seem nonchalant. “I mean, sure. Although I did think about you coming over here. You’re used to traveling light, right? I’ve got too many research books for comfort.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, I’m used to packing in less than three minutes. Last minute travel deals will do that to you. Should I do laundry before I come?”

“I don’t know. I’ve just done mine so I don’t need the machine.”

“If you’re alright with me slowly losing my mind because I can’t climb a mountain, then by all means…”

“We need to pick up an exercise routine,” Castiel says, and the second it exits his mouth he realizes how it could sound. Dean raises his eyebrows and licks his lips absently, but decides against taking the opportunity. Maybe it’s better that way, anyway – it wouldn’t be the first time Castiel’s blown away simply by a beautiful man flirting at him. More often than once, he’s been left behind because he’s not fluent with one night stands and friends with benefits.

Besides, he’s in Barcelona to work and wait for a pandemic to wear out, not to be tangled in nonsense feelings.

Even to him, it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of a lie – but it’s easy to forget it when Dean asks him how the family dinner went and they engage in another balcony conversation that lasts for hours.

*

Inviting Dean over was definitely a mistake.

Castiel sits on his bed and looks at his hands. He’s not sure when they last trembled like this.

He’s nervous.

Shit, he’s not even sure what he’s nervous of – it’s not like there’s promises of anything in the air. Dean’s going to come over and they’ll keep on cooking together. Nothing is going to change, except that they –

Well, they can touch.

It doesn’t mean they are  _ going to _ . At least that’s true for Castiel himself – he hasn’t made plans about becoming intimate with Dean, no matter how gracefully he ties his top. But is Dean thinking the same?

It’s hard to say. Despite talking every day, Dean remains somewhat of a mystery to Castiel. Their conversations are casual, or they’re extremely deep; sure, they help paint some guidelines to what kind of person Dean is. Still, just last night, as they both all but fell asleep on their respective railings… It felt a new kind of intimate, a sort that could easily make Castiel fall for Dean.

And what if Dean doesn’t want any falling to happen? What if he’s just looking for a fuck? Castiel’s not sure he would be fine with it.

He gets up and sighs. It’s not like he has to know everything immediately. They can order food here – some home delivery companies have really stepped up during these two weeks – and watch movies without a care in the world.

The rest will sort itself out, surely.

His phone gives a faint bing somewhere in the apartment. He kind of hopes it’s Gabriel with another pointless update instead of Dean telling him he’s ready to come over whenever.

It takes a while for him to locate the phone, but once he does, he finds himself on the balcony. It’s a crisp morning unlike most of the ones he’s spent here; looking down, he sees a couple of people passing by. It’s like something has shifted a little: Not the Big Bad, of course, but there’s a faint sense of hope in the air for the first time since it all began. It’s as if the restrictions are already working a little, the world gaining a delicate balance between oblivion and paradise – like for once, the world is working on a deliberate rhythm to protect most, instead of the most wealthy.

There’s still a long way to go, but at that moment, looking down on the pedestrians walking six feet apart, Castiel feels like the first steps are in the right direction.

“What’s got you so thoughtful?”

Dean’s leaning his jaw on his palms and looking at Castiel openly. There’s fondness in his eyes that makes Castiel a little weak in the knees.

“Do you think we’ll get through this?”

He shrugs gently. “The only way out is through, so I’m inclined to say yes.”

“You’re calmer,” Castiel hums.

“It’s because I know I won’t have to cook anymore,” he says with a wink, “it’s either that or I took on your meditation advice.”

Castiel frowns. “I’m not certain I’ve given you any meditation advice.”

“Oh, definitely not live,” Dean says nonchalantly, “it was on your Instagram feed.”

It takes a while to go through all of his posts mentally, but once Castiel’s through, he huffs a laugh that borders between impressed and freaked out. “Dean,  _ yoga Thursdays _ was my second post. It was in 2016. It was over two hundred posts ago.”

Dean rolls his shoulders, clearly prepared for this. “So, it only works one way? Scrolling all the way to my first posts seemed like a no-brainer to you.”

Castiel opens his mouth, snaps it shut. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. The like from you on a 2017 post on my Kyoto photo just jumped in there by itself.”

“For what it’s worth,” Castiel proceeds, licking his lips. “I didn’t mean to. I must’ve tapped the heart while scrolling.”

“Left-handed?”

“I am left-handed, yes.”

“Nice,” Dean says, drawing out the word. “Good info to have. So, was I not worth liking or…?”

“No, I would’ve liked them all if I had it in me. I just didn’t want to seem… stalkery.”

“Oh, my sweet summer child. I’d rather have you, stalker or not.”

Castiel blinks. “What?”

Dean looks at Castiel with an expression he can’t fully decipher. It’s somewhere between amused at the minor chaos his words are causing in Castiel – and seeming like there was nothing he’d rather look at than at him.

It feels flattering… In a new, light, bubbly way.

“That I’d rather you be honest with me, your creepy Instagram scrolling habits included, than you creating a fabrication of yourself to seem more… Well, normal or interesting.”

Castiel lets out a sound that’s close to a  _ psssh _ . “You make it sound like I want to seem interesting to you.”

“You don’t? Too bad,” Dean says. Castiel truly has a hard time knowing whether this is a completely serious discussion. “So, when should I come over?”

“Anytime’s fine with me. Are you packed?”

“Completely. All my stuff is right next to the door, ready for me to make a move for it.”

“When you do make a move for it, let me know. I’ll leave the door open so you don’t have to touch surfaces in the hallway.”

“That’s considerate of you,” Dean says. He opens his mouth to say more, but someone starts to play an Eurodance song on the balcony opposite them so instead, he laughs.

“Okay, that’s a cue if any,” he sighs. “Are you nervous? Am I the only one that’s nervous?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I don’t know what it is about it, but I do feel frightened by the shift in circumstances.”

“We can not do it, if that’s what you’d prefer. I mean, we don’t still know if we’re 100 percent clean. We could be silent carriers or something.”

Castiel leans his palm against his mouth, looking down for a while before straightening and replying. “It’s a good frightened. I feel like it’s a good thing. So if you’re still willing to, we should just rip off the band-aid.”

Dean nods. “Okay. Do you have coffee?”

“I can brew some.”

“Nice. Open your door, I’m coming over.”

Castiel is about to say something more, but Dean’s already leaving. Oh, shit. This is actually happening.

It must be nothing more than thirty seconds, but it feels like a small eternity. Castiel makes his way slowly across his apartment, giving a final sweep to his surroundings with his eyes – nothing’s out of place, nothing’s too embarrassing, and still, this is almost starting to look like home. What will Dean think of the books scattered around the shelves? What will he think of his everyday calls with his siblings?

And then, time lurches forward; Dean is standing in his hallway, looking right at him, the sound of the door shutting echoing in the silence. Castiel opens his mouth, but refuses to say what he’s thinking about –  _ freckles _ . So many sunny days on the balcony caused more freckles than he ever saw on his Insta feed.

He clicks his tongue. How long has it been quiet? Seconds, minutes? It’s not an awkward silence at all for him, he loves to be able to take in the situation without being forced to interact.

Dean lets his backpack fall on the ground and nods a hello.

“So, here we are,” he says.

“Yes,” Castiel replies. “Do you think we need to do the whole six feet thing now?”

“I really,” Dean licks his lips, “hope we don’t. If you want, we can try. If you don’t want to, I’m going to ask if you’d want me to kiss you.”

Castiel doesn’t have time to form a coherent reply; his body does the work for him. With one long step, he’s in Dean’s space, he laces their fingers together and gives him a soft, small kiss.

Oh, god. It’s good.

“This is a yes, right,” Dean chuckles, pressing their foreheads together.

Castiel smiles and nods, and Dean catches his lips again. They’re both a bit braver in their gentle exploration, and with a hum, Dean leans against Castiel. He’s warm and solid, like an actual person and it feels both dangerous and exhilarating – he can’t remember when he last felt someone under his hands like this. He sighs when feeling Dean’s fingertips press against his back and breaks the kiss before his legs give in.

“Is this how you greet people?” he whispers – any louder noise would dissolve the warm aura of comfort around them. Dean places one more kiss on his lips before taking his bag and heading further into the apartment with a playful smile on his lips. Cedarwood lingers in the air after him.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments always welcome, I can also be found under the same pseud on most major social media platforms. Come say hi!


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